


Orders

by Malind



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Death, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, M/M, Masochism, Murder, Past Sexual Abuse, Sadism, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 16:47:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6122989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malind/pseuds/Malind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After thirty years away from the Secret Service, Vincent Valentine receives an order from the newly crowned president to kill a monster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Assignment

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The Final Fantasy VII universe and characters are owned by Square Enix. I make no profit from this fanfiction.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice, Mr. Valentine," President Rufus Shinra said, rising from his large, plush office chair to shake the gunman's hand over the extravagantly carved wooden desk.  "I understand you're no longer with the Secret Service, so I appreciate you taking the time to come here today."

 _As if I had much of a choice with the armed military men showing up at my door..._ Although Vincent wanted to say the words, he didn't bother.  Bringing insult into the mix would only lengthen their conversation.  Instead, he said curtly, "Of course."

The younger man smile broadly, though with no warmth, gesturing to a chair in front of the desk.  "Please, have a seat."  The president sat back down himself and waited, as Vincent sat and also took a moment to unbutton the jacket of his slim suit, before he continued.  "I know you've been out of the service for around thirty years now, is it?  Although..."  Rufus gave him a look over with a critical eye.  "Well, I didn't believe it before, but apparently the rumors are true.  Not to be rude, but you barely look older than myself."

The gunman offered a cold smile.  "Sometimes rumors _are_ true."

"Yes, they are....  You've heard the rumors surrounding my father's death?"  Vincent nodded.  "Well, they're true as well. We have yet to find the leak, but never mind that. One of our own murdered him, a celebrated general of our army, something we haven't officially disclosed to the public.  It's better for our country's patriotic soul to blame such things on a lone gunman.  I'm sure you're wondering what any of this has to do with you though."

"Yes," Vincent said honestly since he knew he wouldn't be allowed to leave until he'd satisfied the other man's agenda.  And after the raven-haired man left the capitol building, he decided he was going to be considerably more difficult to find in the future.

Rufus smiled again, brushing arrogant locks of blonde hair from his eyes before sitting back in the oversized chair.  "I'm told that, thirty years ago, you were assigned to two scientists who were husband and wife, a geneticist and a cytologist."

The older man's body remained as stiff as ever, but inside, every part of Vincent had turned over, coursing through him a nearly overwhelming nausea at the memories drudged up yet again.  The love and hate he felt for those two people, who inadvertently stalked his mind every day and his nightmares every night for the previous thirty years...  "Yes, I was assigned to them."

"Then you know of their son, Sephiroth?"

"Yes, of course.  The general who vanished five years ago."  As if he could not know about him.  Between the three of them, Hojo, Lucrecia, and Sephiroth, they'd turned his life inside out until he'd been nothing left but a dried out carcass. A carcass who could apparently still be forced into a meeting with the newly crowned president.

"Well, he's resurfaced.  He's the one who killed my father."

That genuinely surprised the ex-secret serviceman. Five years before, Sephiroth had been the military's pride and joy.  A nearly inhuman man who could take on dozens of men and barely have a scratch for it afterwards.  Or so the rumors said.  He'd never actually seen the man fight, nor did he want to.  Just the thought of seeing him...

"Yes, it's inconceivable, isn't it," the president sighed out with a shake of his head, clearly reading Vincent's obvious thoughts. "But it's unfortunately true.  The reason why I've requested this meeting with you is because I heard you're the best at what you do.  And with your connection to them... Well, I know what they did to you."  The man flipped a finger through a thick file that Vincent had no doubt held information on all of the disgusting details of scientists' human experimentation thirty years prior.  "We need someone who has no love for this man, who won't hesitate to do his duty.  He must be killed before he can cause any more damage."

Vincent realized then that Rufus Shinra, president by default, was quite scared for his own life.  He could understand that.  He could also understand the assumptions that had been made about Vincent Valentine himself, that he hated Hojo, Lucrecia, and Sephiroth.  Those assumptions were only partially true.

Blue eyes met his own, searching for absolute acceptance.  "To put it bluntly, I'd like you to kill Sephiroth for us."

Vincent couldn't help the momentary tensing of his jaw.  But then he said, "Of course, sir."


	2. Creating Monsters

Waiting. Waiting for judgment. Waiting for respite. Waiting for an end.  

...Well, waiting as in doing nothing.  

Vincent Valentine had done a considerable amount of nothing in his life, especially over the course of the last thirty years.  He was officially a pro at it, a person worthy of a case study followed by a footnote in a self-help book on how to not live a life. 

Yesterday, in the president's office, he'd spent his time waiting to get back to his decrepit apartment while pretending to listen to Rufus Shinra babble on and on about his vision of the future, of a world cleansed of the Great ex-General Sephiroth. Today, Vincent was waiting for a call he still wasn't sure whether or not he was going to answer. 

Sleepless for the past thirty-two hours and nauseous from eating next to nothing even though he didn't truly need food anymore, well, nauseous from everything, Vincent sat at his small antique table on the sole chair left in the set. Both the table and chair had been bought at some thrift store downtown for eighteen dollars when his cheap card table had become too wobbly. Laced over that chipped table sat a well-kept assortment of guns and tactical gear.  For the last hour, barely breathing, he'd been staring at all of it, not truly seeing any of it. 

All he could really see was _his_ face. A face he'd only ever seen on television and in newspapers before yesterday. And now had seen it in Sephiroth's file which laid next to the duffel bag on the other side of the table.    

He shouldn't have looked at the file.  Not a single piece of paper in it.  He shouldn't have even taken it in the first place, for that matter. 

But, against all logic and self-preservation, in a ridiculous lust for understanding and pain, he'd found himself scouring through every page, memorizing them, searching for hope, for more to regret.  He'd found plenty of the latter. 

Sitting there now, the ex-secret serviceman didn't know what to feel anymore. About anything. Then again, could he even feel anything at that point in his life? At least anything beyond anger, hate, and so much fucking regret. For everyone. For Lucrecia. More so for Hojo. And especially for himself. 

For Sephiroth through... What was he supposed to feel for an innocent apparently turned maniac?   

Whatever Vincent did feel for him though, it wasn't hate. And Rufus _was_ right: He didn't love Sephiroth either.  How could he love someone he'd never met? He wasn't quite that crazy. Yet.   

No. He felt... 

If Vincent had to put a single, safe word to what he felt for Sephiroth, it was fear.  Fear for the child he hadn't saved because he hadn't done his job.  Fear over what that child had become while Vincent had dwelled in his own miniscule, pathetic, torn-apart life.   

...Although, in his own favor, thirty years ago, his job description hadn't actually included protecting the three of them from themselves, nor from each other.  Any failed protection had been Vincent's add-on to that description when he'd foolishly fallen in love with Sephiroth's mother, Hojo's wife.   

But, out of his own favor, while lost in his foolishness, he could have done so much more to help her, to stop them both from destroying all three of their lives. Four, if one included Sephiroth.

Vincent sucked breath of stale air and blew it out slowly while leaning back in the creaking chair and looking up to the water-stained ceiling.  He wished he could collapse on his bed, twine into the unmade sheets, and drift into mindlessness sleep that his body desperately needed, but what awaited him in his unconscious mind was really no better than reality.   

To think there was a time in his life when he had hope... 

And, apparently, there was little hope for their new, obviously-desperate president. Before calling the gunman in, Rufus Shinra should have taken a moment to question why Vincent Valentine had become a recluse for the last three decades.  If Rufus had, if he could have seen the gunman at that moment, if he had any sense at all, he would have found another to do his dirty work. 

"Or course, if there's so little hope to go around, why am I sitting here waiting for his call?" Vincent asked the water stain above his head.   

As if Sephiroth's death was hope.  No, it certainly wasn't hope.  If anything, Sephiroth's murder was a mercy killing, and that had nothing to do with hope. 

Unbeknownst to the vast majority of the world, Sephiroth had apparently gone insane five years before and murdered everyone in a small town located in the middle of the country and burned it to the ground before disappearing into oblivion.   

Now Sephiroth was killing presidents... Not that Vincent completely blamed Sephiroth for killing their former president. He himself had considered it with the way things were going. The corruption, corporate greed, and desolation over the decades with President Shinra in power, surely they were all pointers in the handbook on how to not run a country.  But, he hadn't bothered killing him since another pile of corruption would simply take his place and did.  They always did and people continued to let them.

And if Sephiroth was allowed to continue on, would there be more destruction? If so, who would be next on his list?  More innocents?  More towns? Cities? The whole country? The world?   

Well, not the world.  Sephiroth couldn't possibly have access to anything that destructive.   

Then again... This was Sephiroth, a scientifically enhanced creature that could barely be considered human, according to his file.  One whose IQ made the rest of the world look like imbeciles, whose tactical skills destroyed resistance and life, who healed nearly as quickly as he took damage, whose reflexes seemed to predict the future, and whose strength paralleled that of a machine. If only he could fly, he'd nearly be a god.

And Rufus Shinra wanted him to take this man on alone, a monster the Shinra family had created with their gobs of money.  The president had to be a bit insane himself.   

Just a bit, since, according to file, there _was_ a way to kill Sephiorth.  Theoretically. But the shot had to be as precise as a surgeon's prized cut. The shot had to more or less give the man a lobotomy so that more drastic measures could be taken before the man could inhumanly heal himself. 

The other alternatives were chopping his head off, which meant getting close enough to him, which the sane knew to be an impossibility. The other option was blowing him up into pieces.  But for that to even possibly work, they had to find him first.  That in itself was tricky since the man had apparently either cut out or destroyed the four tracking devices in his body. 

"And if he is found, what are the chances that I'll even survive if I manage to get near enough to shoot him," he asked the stained ceiling.  "And does it really matter..." 

Vincent blew out another huff of air and looked again to the assortment of gear before him. Each item was laid out precisely, so much more orderly than any other part of his life.  Some habits just never died.   

Looking at it all, he knew he would do it. In the back of his mind, he'd known he was going to the moment he got home and laid out his gear.  But that didn't mean he truly wanted to and for so many reasons.   

But he would do it for mercy.  After all, after everything the younger man had apparently gone through, Sephiroth couldn't possibly be any happier than Vincent himself.  Sephiroth deserved mercy, even if he was a monster, since the world had made him one. 

As Vincent neatly arranged the gear in the duffel bag, the cell phone on the table finally rang.  He didn't hesitate in picking it up. 

"Valentine." 

"Sir, we've had a confirmed hit on the target. A surveillance camera ID'ed him in Junon. He is currently waiting to board a ship set to leave the country in fifty minutes.  A private jet is ready to transport you there. A car will be outside shortly to drive you to the airport. At entrance B, a guard will be waiting for you to take you past security. Upon arrival in Junon, a helicopter will transport you to the ship. The crew has been made aware that you will be landing on the main deck and are to be given full access to the ship. Is there anything you require?"

"No. I'll be downstairs in less than five minutes."  Vincent ended the call, finished packing, and was out the door in two minutes. 

 


	3. Home for a Day

Eight minutes after the cruise ship started its slow course into the ocean, the force of the helicopter blades sent several long patio chairs and tables tumbling as they landed on the deck of a ship that had no permanent designated place for a helicopter to land. The moment it touched the polished wood, Vincent unbuckled his belt, grabbed his bag, and was out without a backward glance, glad he'd worn his lower-back length hair tied tightly over the back of his suit. The long bangs that managed to escape whipped his face, making him flinch as he hurried forward, instinctively ducking a bit to avoid blades that had no chance of hitting him.

A security officer, judging by his stripes, dashed out of the bridge to greet him, a death grip on his white hat as his uniform flapped in the harsh wind. They met a short distance away from the helicopter.

The white-clad man shouted over the blaring noise, "Come with me, sir. We have a room for you on the second deck." By the end of the second sentence, the man clearly taking an interest in the gunman's overall oddness with his flickering glances, the helicopter was taking off again and the sailor was able to come down to a normal speaking voice as they walked. "The security chief will be down shortly to talk to you."

"I'd prefer to talk to him now."

The sailor didn't stop his strides to the elevator door that would take them to the decks below. "I'm sorry, sir. _She's_ still going through embarkation procedures. One she's finished, you'll be her first stop, I assure you."

Vincent gritted his teeth but didn't protest further. After all, on the helicopter, he'd been assured through a secure channel on the radio that Sephiroth had boarded the ship with the aid of a false name attached to a fake passport that wouldn't have raised any suspicion had his face not been detected by the security cameras. But even then, no one outside of the government knew they were looking for their prized soldier, one who was supposed to be quite dead.

Besides... The closer he got to being confronted with the soldier, the less the ex-secret serviceman was ready to face Sephiroth, which ended up being a considerably minuscule amount of desire. All of his training and experience told him he should be ready for anything. To not be so could assure him a quick death, especially with this particular man. But he wasn't ready for this. At all in all honesty, so his being there was surprising, to himself at least. 

To come face to face, or at least face to back with the child of the woman whose touch had questionably loved him, a woman he'd loved and still did in far too many ways, one being too many to his battered mind.

To come here solely with with the full intent of killing Sephiroth... 

How was he ever supposed to be ready for this?

Soon enough, he found himself in a cabin that, while on the second floor down, was still clearly first class. The room was as expansive as a similar hotel room and decorated lavishly with the hopes the occupant had enough state of mind to not destroy the place in some fit. Did the room have any hope?

Vincent blew out a breath, dropped his bag near the couch, and laid his back down on the finely fabric'ed cushions, his feet remaining on the floor. His hands covered his face, bringing false darkness to his exhausted mind. He needed sleep. Badly. But he couldn't allow himself to doze. Maybe after he'd talked to the security chief he'd allow his eyes to close for a bit. Allowing sleep would be safer anyway. In his present state, he could too easily make a mistake that would cost people their lives.

In nearly fifteen minutes, he heard a knock at the door which jolted him awake. The man growled, standing up on wobbly feet and did his best to shake off his sleep with a stride he tried his best to make straight. God, he was rusty...

The woman, who had her hand lifted to knock again, stared at him with raised brows and a slightly dropped jaw. Yeah, he had burning red eyes, deathly pale skin, hair longer than most women bothered with, deep scars in hidden and not so hidden places. What else was new? This reaction was a big part of the reason why he'd become a hermit in a city of millions. He was tired, so tired of people's stares. Every one of them only pushed into his face again and again what he'd become on that operating room table.

The woman cleared her throat, her eyes flickering away in clear embarrassment, before she looked to him again. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Valentine. ...May I come in? I'd rather not discuss these matters in the hallway."

Somewhat reluctantly, Vincent stepped to the side, allowing her in, before he closed the door again. Dressed in a white suit as well, she took a wide stance in the middle of the room, her hand flicking over a small tablet.

"I have a detailed schematic of the ship, a list of crew members along with their phone numbers, a passenger list and their room numbers, really everything we have, as the DoD requested. Everything we have is at your disposal." She eyed him again. "If I may ask, who is it you're looking for?"

"If you don't know, then you're not supposed to know."

"Yes, sir. But please understand these people are all under my protection. If anyone is in immediate danger, I request that you tell me."

"No, not immediate." 

Of course, Vincent couldn't guarantee that. He had no idea why Sephiroth was on this ship. Was it to assassinate another person? Was it merely to abandon ship at the first designated stop in a different country, one of several on the ten-day cruise? Or perhaps the guy was just taking a vacation. The gunman knew he would probably never really know why. But it wasn't his job to know why Sephiroth did the things he did. It was his job to end his life.

She nodded with a tightness that said how little she liked all of this, including him, and walked the few steps to him before handing him the tablet. He took it with a quiet thank you and said no more. 

After a few moments, she seemed to take the hint with his not-so-well-hidden general hostility towards everything and nodded to him. "Sir. If you need anything, anything at all, please, my number is on the home screen and I'm available at all hours."

Her genuine concern finally managed to get something of a smile out of him. "Of course. With any luck, I'll be gone within twenty-four hours." Leaving a mess to clean up after the body was removed.

Once she had left, he looked down at the tablet, flicked his finger over the screen until he found the passenger list, and then found the name he was looking for: Angeal Hewley, cabin 310C. Just one floor away waited the man Vincent could barely comprehend.

After staring at that name for several minutes, lost in it and its lies and potential for destruction, the gunman finally found himself at the couch again. He collapsed on it face down, promising himself he'd only sleep a few minutes. And, of course, he'd never, ever broken a promise to himself.


	4. Spying Eyes

A muffled pulse and vibration at his chest woke the gasping man from a nightmare he hadn't been able to escape, one that ended in blood and death caressed with their screams and his own raw ones.  Not one bit of that particular dream had changed over the course of thirty years.  He was more than grateful to be freed from it and its underlining truth.

Rolling a bit to his side, a trembling hand pulled the phone out of his breast pocket.  He noted the time first.  He'd barely slept an hour.  Then he flipped it open on the seventh ring, cleared his tight throat, and said as evenly as he could, "Valentine."

"Sir, we have not received your required check-in. Proper protocols must be-"

Interrupting him, to save his own ear and the man's breath, Vincent growled out, "I understand the importance of protocol. Is there anything else?"

There was a couple of seconds of silence before the man said tightly, "No, sir."

"Unless you have information of dire importance to share, do _not_ call me again. Unless, of course, you're trying to get me killed as well. I'll 'check-in' when the job is done." The gunman snapped the thing shut and fought the urge to throw it out the small window close by. 

He was killing Sephiroth for them, someone they'd happily funded the creation of.  Why the hell wasn't that enough?  Why insist on acting like long-distance babysitters who were at no real risk themselves? Granted he wasn't off to the greatest, most professional start, but they weren't the ones killing a man.  They were just sitting on their asses on the sidelines to cheerlead.

Vincent gritted his teeth, but couldn't stop himself from blurting out, "Fuck them.  Fuck everyone."

Also against his will, his mind brought forth cat-like aquamarine eyes that wouldn't leave him alone and made his empty stomach clench. He swallowed at the rising bile

When that did little to help, he forced out, "And fuck you too."  Undeterred, the eyes remained glued to him as they had for the past two days.

God, this had to end.  One way or another. 

Riled in fury, Vincent thrust himself up off the couch, turned off the phone and jammed it back into his pocket, grabbed his bag, shoving the tablet inside, and stalked outside and back to the elevator. Once inside, he hit '3' and then slammed the side of his fist repeatedly on a lower button that was supposed to close the doors.  Those doors still took their time.

"Just calm down.  When he's dead, this will be over.  All of it will be over.  And then....  And then..." What then?

Vincent clenched his eyes shut as the elevator stopped.  He didn't open them again until he was released from the cage.  Following the signs, he quickly found Sephiroth's room.  With the hallway clear, he wasted no time in digging through his bag for a moment, pulling out a snake camera and his own phone. After attaching the cord and pulling up the app, he slipped the camera under the door and stared at his phone.

With his thumb's directions, the tiny motors inside the snake swiveled it around silently, examining the interior.  And he saw...

It took him a moment to willingly understand what he was seeing.

"Fuck me," barely escaped his mouth.

Inside, a good ten feet from his camera, stood a quite naked, dripping man who was presently toweling off water from a bent long leg, its foot resting on a large bed.  At the angle Sephiroth stood, with Vincent's phone's substantial resolution, the gunman couldn't help but see every bit of visible hard muscle and flawless skin, including what was between the man's legs.  All of that particular area, in fact, right from his tight hole, to his water-heated, hanging sack and length.  Those particular parts swung with the swordsman's every micro-movement. Vincent's mouth instantly dried as his heart thudded off of the deep end. 

The man ripped the camera out from under the door so fast and with a harshness he hadn't intended. Metal scraped wood, creating a noise Sephiroth surely heard.  He thrust everything back to his bag, and stalked back down the hallway and around the corner, not even breathing until his body slammed against the hallway wall. Heavy, panting breaths rushed out of him.

The last thing he needed...

"God, help me... I-I can't see him as human, as a..."

Around the corner, he heard a door open.  That was all it took for him to rush down the hallways and take a side stairway, which presented itself faster than the elevator, back up to his level.  When he reached his door, he fumbled with the card, suddenly hating keycards with passion, and then was inside, feeling absolutely out-of-his-mind crazy and wondering why the hell he'd ever agreed to do this. 

And he'd thought Sephiroth's eyes had been driving him crazy...  Now... 

Now, inside of his eternally twenty-seven year old body, all his sleep-deprived, stressed, confused mind could see was... 

His breath grew ragged for a whole different reason as his body boiled quite against his will.  

"God, what a sick, crazy bastard I am."

Yeah, he was officially fucking insane, as if he hadn't known that before.  Could the world really question why he hid away, why it was better off without him?  He felt exactly the same for the world.  And for Sephiroth. And suddenly he was so sorry he'd ever even remotely been involved in the man's life.

And the biggest problem of all was, well, he still had to kill him.


	5. Double Bourbon

Avoiding what should have been his main goal, after leaving his cabin, the next place Vincent had found himself in was one of the numerous bars that hid in the interior of the cruise ship.  He'd never been one to drink, but couldn't think of a single other way to relax his exploding mind.  He just needed a bit of numbing, just a touch.  But that was unfortunately much, much easier said than done. A gift of Hojo's experimentation, it was difficult for him to get tipsy, let alone drunk.  But, considering the moment, presently, he was giving it his all.

When the waitress skirted by, Vincent blurted out over the overly loud bar music, "Another double Bourbon."

The woman instantly stopped and eyed him with a scowl, then eyed the floor around Vincent's feet. "Are you tossing them or something?"  When she seemed to conclude that the floor didn't have a puddle, she met his gaze.  "That one on the table is your 12th one.  Are you bottling them?  You know, you can't take alcohol out of this area. Ship's rules to keep the kiddies safe."

"I'm drinking them. Trust me."

"Sir...  You should be falling to the floor by now."

"You can stand there and watch me drink it, if you like."

She eyed him for a moment longer and then walked to the bar and started up a conversation with the bartender.  She pointed to Vincent and then they both began staring at him while the conversation continued on.  Vincent stared back, getting more pissed by the second.  Couldn't he even drink without it becoming a circus?

Then the bartender went to work.  Shot glass after shot glass filled the tray until there was surely another dozen on there.  The waitress grinned at the bartender as another word was spoken then brought the tray over to Vincent.  She sat herself down at the other side of the table. 

"Drink as many as you like.  It's on the house.  I'm going to sit here and watch."

Vincent raised his brows.  "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, he thinks you're drinking them.  I say you're bottling them."

His brows raised higher, flabbergasted.  "You're betting on me?"

Her grin turned into a full-fledged smirk.  "I hope you don’t mind.  So, yeah, go to it."

Vincent eyed the woman, then eyed the bartender who was watching.  In fact, everyone at the counter had taken to watching. 

Whatever.

He downed the first glass in one fluid drag.  The fire in his mouth became a fire down his esophagus and then added to the fire already in his belly.  He slammed the glass down on the table.

"Impressive. Keep going." Her smirk never left.  Soon she'd become a believer though.

The gunman smirked back at her and downed another five.  At that point, he was beginning to feel something vague muddling his mind.

Four shot glasses later, the waitress was shaking her head with wide eyes.  After a huff, she blurted out, "You're not human."

"No, not really."

Vincent dropped his head back to down another.  When his eyes leveled again though, his head suddenly seeming to wobble, beyond the woman's shocked face, he saw what he was sure was a hallucination. 

It had to be.  Mainly because the face he saw staring at him was definitely Sephiroth's.  Vincent could have painted a portrait of that face from memory alone, had he been able to paint worth a damn.  Rather, it was the hair, black, spiked, and not cascades of silver, that brought confusion to his fogging brain.

He could only conclude that he'd overdone the drinking.  Way overdone it.  He was starting to see Sephiroth everywhere. 

Wait... Sephiroth had disguised himself.  Vincent clenched his eyes shut and tried to recall the admittedly fuzzy footage of Sephiroth boarding. ...Yeah, Sephiroth had had hair like that, trying his best to impersonate Angeal Hewley, most likely.

When he reopened his eyes, he half expected Sephiroth to have vanished, but, heading the exact opposite direction, the ex-General was actually closer and watching the gunman so closely that Vincent lost his breath.

If this man was Sephiroth, did he know who Vincent was?  Did he know why the ex-secret serviceman was aboard the ship? 

Was it all going to go to hell, and just when Vincent was quickly losing his ability to focus as the flood of alcohol worked its way through his body?  Wouldn't that have just been the way of it, of his life as a whole.

The waitress laughed, looking at the bartender.  "I think he's had it. I'd say I won."

"Not if he drank the first twelve," the bartender called out with a shake of his head.

"Well, what do you want me to do?  Strip-search him?"

"You wish, Gwen.  Get back to work."

The woman let out a very unlady-like growl, stood up, loaded the tray back up, and took it to the counter.  By then though, Vincent only had eyes for the man who continued to stare back.  There was no aggressiveness in the swordsman's stance.  He just seemed...  Confused?  Concerned?  Seemed to be trying to figure out the best course of action?  Well, if that was the case, Vincent was doing the same thing.

When the staring match continued for another minute, Vincent's gun still hidden at the small of his back in a holder, the gunman kicked at the chair in front of him.  It screeched over the booming music.  The offering was clear:  "Have a seat, stranger," it said.

The man that was surely Sephiroth stared for a few more seconds but then made his way forward, to the chair.  Every step was effortless, his body rippling with muscles, under a t-shirt and open jacket and jeans, muscles that Vincent had seen in all of their naked glory an hour before.  Yeah, that was definitely the body he'd seen.  And Vincent found he couldn’t doubt for a second that this man had been made by Hojo and Lucrecia to be perfect.

Sephiroth sat down, his gaze never leaving the gunman's.  But his mouth never moved either.  Neither did Vincent's.  What exactly was he supposed to say, after all?  'Hi, I'm here to give you a lobotomy and then chop your head off.'?

After another minute, Sephiroth finally leaned forward, his elbows coming to rest on his legs that were hidden by the table.  "You're Vincent Valentine."  He said it as a fact so Vincent didn't bother responding.  "Your presence... Seems a bit convenient, don't you think?"

"Convenient for who?"

Sephiroth smirked which sent a wave of unwelcome heat through the drunken gunman, bringing his pulse to hammer. "For the powers that be, I suppose."  The man sat back in his chair again, leaning back, studying Vincent with an obvious curiosity.   Then he asked point blank, "Are you here for me?"

Vincent was an avoider, a person that kept to the shadows and had been trained to keep a tight lip even through torture.  This however...  This was different.  ...Sincere. And he didn't know how he should react.  But when he took more than a second to come to a rightful conclusion as to how he should respond, Sephiroth closed his eyes and shook his head, apparently already coming to his own rightful conclusion.

The gunman swallowed and tried to get his brain to work properly, but everything about this man, from his demeanor to his words, confused Vincent.  And it wasn't just the alcohol.

This man wasn't acting like a cold-blooded killer.  He wasn't acting like a maniac either. He was acting like, well, any other 'normal' person Vincent had ever met. 

Perhaps Sephiroth was a sociopath and able to blend in all too well, able to manipulate minds without giving the person slightest clue that they were fucked with.  Surely, considering the man had been able to disappear for five years into oblivion, that was definitely a possibility.  Of course, by that standard, Vincent could have been considered one too.

When Sephiroth reopened his eyes, he leaned forward again, watching Vincent so closely that the gunman would have done just about anything to release the tension between them.  Then the call between his legs offered a suggestion:

"I need to take a leak."

Brows hidden underneath a mass of raven hair rose.  Then the man huffed with a smirk. "By all means."

Vincent cleared his throat, stood, and then wished he wasn't wobbling his way to the bathroom.  Unnerving him was the sound of Sephiroth's chair behind him.  He couldn’t hear the ex-General's footsteps over the music, but he could definitely sense his presence behind him, walking with him to the bathroom.

To the bathroom?  Were they going to have it out in the men's room?  Vincent swallowed down the alcohol that threatened to resurface. What a place to meet death...


	6. Seeing Red

For a bar bathroom, the good-sized room was remarkably spotless and smelled of a strong cleaner that battled it out with the floral-scented, equally-chemically-ridden air freshener plugged into the wall.  Of course, who knew what it'd look like in another week or two after the passengers decided to let their hair down, get wasted, and expel bodily fluids in one way or another, all in the name of having a good time.

Vincent made his way directly to one of the two stalls, hoping to lock it right behind himself and Sephiroth outside.  Never mind that, assuming the overabundance of the other man's scientifically-enhanced strength, the lock probably would have done nothing to keep the ex-soldier out had Sephiroth truly wanted to get inside.  But Vincent's every step was only followed by the other man's, right to that bathroom stall. 

Why did he keep walking?  Why the hell didn't he just turn around and confront the man, tell him to get the hell away from him before one of them, probably he himself, got hurt?  Why hadn't he run into that damned bathroom stall like the cowardly quitter he truly was? 

What kept his steps semi-steady could have only been a good mix of training, adrenaline, alcohol, and testosterone.  All of that combined was enough to make any man act like an idiot.

And then, with just a step into the stall, without warning, he felt like he'd been hit with a battering ram at the back of his neck, as his body slammed against the back wall, crushing the air out of his lungs, his shin nailing the toilet before his knee bent over it with the brute force.  His other leg, he struggled to get straightened underneath himself so he could gain some kind of traction.  In the next moment, his wrist, he'd managed to shove against the wall in a useless, instinctive effort to save himself, was grabbed, yanked until his shoulder screamed, until both of his wrists, the other of which had been aiming for his gun, were captured in one large hand.  The whole of the violence had only lasted a second or two.

Completely restrained over a toilet, Vincent tried to get in a breath through the hand's ever constricting grip.  Was the other man hell-bent on killing him?  It seemed so.  Already he felt blackness in the corners of his fogging brain from the lack of blood flow.  With a bit more force, the man might have been able to pop his head clean off. 

And why, after all his occasional best efforts, hadn't he died before that day?  Well, that reason began to sprout from his back: black leathery wings attached to the soul of a creature that would never, ever let him die if it had anything to do about it.

The pain of it, of everything strangled a cry out of him that ended up being little more than a weak, hoarse, choked cough through his smashed vocal cords.  The hand squeezed harder to kill it.

Then he felt the alcohol-ridden bile surging from his full belly being jabbed by the top of the toilet. The stuff had nowhere to go and would enter his lungs, burning them, surely killing him anyway if Sephiroth didn't finish the job.

A moment later, he found himself on the floor, his body expelling the vomit and any remaining air with violent coughs that convulsed his body. Wings ripped through his clothing, shredding them to the point of being trashcan worthy, as he barely felt a hot hand at his back that ripped his gun from his holster.  Then, well, as it had happened before when the creature, aptly named Chaos, reddened his mind and took over his thoughts and body, he was chaos, the bringer of death to those he hated.  And loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, he's having a Hulk moment. XD


	7. Deserved Torment

Waking to a throbbing pain that felt like his brain being scrambled up for breakfast, the first thing Vincent noticed as he tried to move was that he was restrained again but, this time, not by a living body.  He lifted his head up a bit, struggling to see in the dim emergency light, ignoring the nausea the simple action inflicted. With sudden heavy breaths, he lifted his heavy hands and noticed the handcuffs.  Following the thick chain attached to them, he saw he'd been anchored to the middle of the floor.  He craned his neck further and saw that his legs were being kept apart by a metal bar which was secured to his ankles by thick metal cuffs.

Otherwise, well, it wasn't so bad.  He was laying on a cot.  Hojo's metallic table that he'd spent countless days on top of had been far worse.  His own worn-out, stained, spring-revealed mattress that should have been replaced decades before was a hell of a lot worse than this.

Vincent let his head drop back onto the bed, clenching his eyes shut as his body revolted to the movement.  But at least he seemed physically intact otherwise.

At that point, he wasn't completely sure why he was in such a state.

...Well, he remembered the overly excessive drinking and... 

Sephiroth.  Sephiroth with black hair. 

Sephiroth following him to the bathroom? 

And Sephiroth slamming him against a wall, trying to kill him...  Yes, they'd...  In the bathroom stall.  God...  How could that have slipped his mind?

But, he was still alive, right?  So, something must have stopped the soldier.  But what?

...Then he remembered the pain at his back that had nothing to do with Sephiroth, well, outside of the fact that'd it'd been a response to the man trying to kill him. 

Vincent's eyes went wide as he stared sightlessly at the ceiling.  "Good God..."

What the fuck had he done?!

Without wanting to, so not wanting to, he could already envision exactly what he'd done:  body parts laying in pools of blood and alcohol.  And further outside on the burnt decks of the ship...  Women?  Children?  None of whom would have had a face to the monster he vaguely remembered becoming.

The Science Experiment knew full well what he was capable of when the creature emerged.  At least he'd read about it, watched it on TV for weeks, sucking all sources dry of information that seemed to change by the day until what had supposedly happened had been merely an accidental explosion of lab chemicals resulting in the deaths of fourteen people.

Every minute of every day while sitting in the chair in his apartment, covered in blood, his body no longer needing food nor drink to survive, an observation that had taken quite a while to notice after he'd never managed to starve to death, he'd kept expecting people to storm his door and demand vengeance.  In fact, within days, he'd been practically begging them to bash down his door, to end his absolute misery.  But those people had never come.  And he'd continued to get a paycheck deposited in his account every two weeks for the past thirty years for sitting on his ass.  For being a murderer. 

No, nothing and no one would have been safe.  And he'd come onto this ship of his own free will, knowing what could happen.  Granted, he hadn't fully transformed for decades, coming to a complete standstill no matter what he'd been doing if he'd felt even traces of the creature emerging, but still...

If only the people around him had known the underlining reasons for his misery and self-loathing that had kept him a hermit for so many years.  They would have run from him, instead of gawking.

And the newly crowned President...  The man had to have known what was inside of him, of the massacre in that lab, in the whole building.  The details surely had been in the papers on Rufus Shinra's desk.

...What was the true reason Shinra had chosen him?  Because of his training and any supposed hate he _might_ have harbored towards Lucrecia, Hojo, and Sephiroth?  Or because there was something inside of Vincent that truly had no mercy, that truly hated simply because that was all it could do, because that was what it'd been created to do.

Why else would Rufus have chosen a man who hadn't seen action for three decades, who had become a recluse because of the innocent blood on his hands?

The gunman blinked at the tears in his eyes, sending them streaming down the sides of his face.  If God was truly merciful, why didn't he just kill him? Why would God allow this to continue on and on, year after year? For, what, eternity?  Didn't God care who died?  And since he didn't seem to, Vincent wished he himself couldn't care, wished his mind would at least leave him, because every moment alive was torment.

After minutes that were surely drawing close to an hour, Vincent heard clunking footsteps near his holding cell.  Those steps stopped in front of his door.  Something clanked.  Then a chair's feet squealed along the floor. 

"Judith, just..."

"There's no way in hell you're going in there.  Back up or I'll confine you to your quarters, Officer. You saw what happened when he seemed catatonic.  I won't give that order again and risk more lives."  More lives?  "As long as he's not doing anything noteworthy, as the one who allowed him onboard, I'm going to sit here and wait for his handlers to get him the hell off my ship."

"But he killed-"

"Yeah, he killed a lot of people." At the words, Vincent wished with every desire and ambition he'd ever had since Lucrecia had 'saved' his life that his heart would give out, but, of course, it didn't.  "But no more.  I won't allow it.  We're waiting.  Just give me your report."

There was a moment of quiet before Vincent heard the man say quietly, "Yes, ma'am.  Most of the passengers have made it to land and are accounted for.  The remaining, the ones who aren't dead, are most likely still on the 5 lifeboats headed towards shore.  We've started moving the crew as well.  Natalie has yet to report back.  They're continuing to work on the repairs to the lower deck.  We're still taking in water, but the pumps are working adequately."  For nearly a minute no one said anything, but then the man nearly whispered, "Why hasn't anyone answered our distress calls?  Why are none of the phones working?"

"...I don't know.  Maybe we're in a dead zone.  Are the 2-Way Radios still working?

"Yes, as far as I know."

"Then my orders remain the same.  Keep trying by any possible means until we reach someone."

"Yes, ma'am."

Footsteps walked slowly away from the holding cell.  When they became distant, Vincent heard the woman sigh and collapse back onto her chair next to the door.

The gunman held his breath for a moment, but then said loud enough for her to hear, "Just let me go.  I'll leave your ship."

There was a marked pause before she growled out, "There's no way in hell you're simply walking away from this."

The words made him smile.  God, how he wished they were true.  They were words that should have been true three decades before when he'd killed the flawed, beautiful woman he still loved.


	8. One's Truth is Another's Lie

It didn't matter that Vincent Valentine had been sent. In fact, that only made Sephiroth's course of action all the more sure as the ex-General trembled with a normally well-concealed rage.

But when Sephiroth slammed Valentine against the wall and an unnatural movement bubbled at the ex-secret serviceman's back, well, admittedly a bit horrified, Sephiroth instantly changed his mind on the mode of murder and thrust Valentine at the floor instead.

Yes, Sephiroth had known to expect a metamorphosis from the lengthy reports he'd hacked from the government's network years before. However, being a witness to it was something far different.

Battling the urge to run to the sink to scrub his hands until they were raw and bleeding, in the next movement, Sephiroth yanked Valentine's gun out of the concealed holster at the small of his back, the same gun Valentine had been going after.  The very same one Sephiroth's eyes had latched onto the moment Vincent had walked away from him in the bar.

Now, staring down wide-eyed at the convulsive, vomit-pooling spectacle that would surely only last another second or two before the transformation was complete, Sephiroth stumbled back a couple of steps and took aim with a tool he only used when he had to, when his sword was out of reach.  But his finger wouldn't pull the trigger, stiffened by his morbid fascination. 

Minutes earlier, when Sephiroth had seen the gunman, had recognized Valentine from old surveillance footage and just as old photographs, Sephiroth had been ready to kill him.  He should have killed him on the spot.  What had stopped him, well, surely it was some warped need to make himself as miserable as humanly possible, never mind that the ex-General himself could barely be considered human.

What certainly hadn't stopped him was Valentine's confused, startled expression that hid the murderous monster Sephiroth knew him to be.

Truly, the moment Sephiroth had seen the gunman, he should have snapped his neck.  He should have done far worse, things amounting torture, things devoted to inflicting the utmost agony, the same stuff Sephiroth had been feeling all these years while dwelling in the knowledge that his parents' murderer had never faced punishment.  Well, that pain, along with many other little tidbits of agony that surely wouldn't have happened had Sephiroth's life gone differently thirty years before.

In fact, never mind today.  Had Sephiroth been able to track the other man down, he would have killed Vincent Valentine years ago.  But the gunman's location seemed to be the singular piece of information the government had taken real effort to hide, almost as if they were proud of the rest.

After years of lacking a trail, Sephiroth had eventually concluded that Vincent Valentine might have been dead, perhaps dumped in some nameless grave or fried in an oven and reduced to dust that had been swallowed by the wind.

Until now.

The second after Valentine expelled the contents of his stomach and sprouted leathery black wings that shredded his clothing and trapped Sephiroth in the bathroom stall, the creature shoved itself off the ground and whipped around, teeth bared in what some might have called a grin.  That was all the motivation Sephiroth needed.  He fired at it as it leapt at him, the bullet surely hitting something, but it only kept coming.  The creature's momentum slammed him back against the toilet so that he was forced to sit on it.  He bit back the holler of pain flooding through his bruising backside.

All Sephiroth could see were inhuman eyes, teeth and claws that ripped at him, as viscous as any nightmare, drawing blood, tearing flesh.  All he could hear, outside of his own chocked breaths and pounding heartbeat, were inhuman howls that seemed to vibrate the whole room.  All he could smell was traces of alcohol hidden behind the stench of bile.

For the first time in years, Sephiroth genuinely thought he might be facing his death, something he'd come to think might never happen if fate was truly as cruel as it seemed.  Ironic that it'd come from this creature.  Of course, Sephiroth had been tempting this particular fate for years.

Seeming one-hundred times stronger than the man who had spawned it, the creature pinned him, arching his back against the back of the toilet.  It dove straight for his neck with gnashing teeth, spitting traces of vomit onto his face and neck.

A sound so unfamiliar to his own ears, Sephiroth cried out as he shoved with everything he had at the snapping face.  The violent movement threw the beast out of the stall. Its body collided against the far wall, putting a sizable hole into it.  Sephiroth was instantly on his feet and shooting at the creature.  But, unsurprising to him, the bullets seemed to do nothing more than enrage the creature further.

Then the world and everything in it suddenly seemed to go still, holding its breath.  It was the tremendous draw of energy around Sephiroth that made him suck in his own breath.  "Good God," he hissed with a short exhale.

The moment it closed its eyes not even a second later, Sephiroth burst into a run, barely avoiding wings that flared up.  And then he was out of the bathroom, dashing to the entrance of the bar.  Behind him, an explosion vibrated everything and heated his back.  Screams picked up and followed him.  Under them, he heard a rush of water.

When he reached the railing that protected clumsy people from the multistory drop, he jumped up on it and leapt a distance no human could have achieved.  He landed on nearly silent feet on the other side of the ship and, hearing it behind him, didn't stop running up multiple wide, open staircases until he was on the deck of the ship.

Around him, people on that level were finally starting to panic instead of merely gawk and whisper confused words.  Perhaps though that panic came from the inhuman howl from below, instead of from the threat of drowning.

When he heard glass shatter and felt the pulse of huge wings thrash the air, Sephiroth whipped around and stared at what he'd done, acknowledging once again that he should have snapped the man's neck when he'd had the chance.  The useless gun still in his hand, the ex-general stood there as everyone else fled for their lives.  The wind, both natural and from thrashing wings, whipped his fake, raven hair, tickling bangs over his face.  He barely noticed it. Nor did he notice the torn flesh of his body that was quickly healing as he stared at the beast.

The creature smirked again. Out of its throat rumbled, "Are you trying to protect them, little lab mouse?"

That, more than anything else, shocked Sephiroth.  That the creature could have purposeful thought and not merely be a mess of impulse and hate...  Well, that apparent fact, on top of the fact that this monster seemed to know more about Sephiroth than he wanted anyone to know.

"If I wished the helpless little pests to be dead, they would be so."  Then it landed in front of Sephiroth with one final great thrashing of its wings, a short distance away from him.  "But those deaths would only give me the tiniest thrill.  Unlike your death."  It tilted his head.  "Do you know why?"

Breathing heavily, Sephiroth said an honest, tight, "No."

Then it smiled and closed its crimson eyes.  "Because it would destroy him with a totality that would give me the sweetest pleasure imaginable.  He just doesn't realize that fact yet."

The words bit at Sephiroth gut, drawing blood, an instant revolt to the absurdity of the words. Nonetheless, he couldn't help but ask, "Who are you talking about?"

It opened its eyes.  "You don't know?"

Who would have cared whether Sephiroth lived or died?  Who could have possibly cared?

No one.  The only people who would have were dead, with two of them being so because of this monster in front of him.

And then gunshots flared in the air and the beast turned onto them. 

"Stop!" Sephiroth screamed out, his voice barely able to be heard over the gunfire, screams, and howls. If he'd had a dollar for every time he'd said 'stop' and people hadn't listened, well...


	9. Things Better Forgotten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: semi-graphic rape/non-con, mentions of past sexual abuse, and violence/murder.

What Sephiroth saw next, it was a vision straight out of his nightmares, or at least one particular theme out of a group of nightmares that had haunted him for years. The first four people were taken out before the rest seemed to realize that their bullets were doing nothing to prevent their own deaths. Another few were taken out as they ran for their lives.

Bodies separated. Parts flew. Blood splattered. Screams were covered by pleasured howls. There was no mercy, no thought to age or gender. There was only death.

As the people died, Sephiroth's horror and outrage mounting and creating a heaving weight in his gut that pained him, he realized his feet had started moving, running hard straight after the beast, the wind, both natural and created from his speed, finally blowing his itchy wig off, although he barely noticed it. The vast majority of his thought centralized on stopping this from happening. Again.

His body collided full-force into the back of it, sending them to the ground in a fighting tangle of arms, limbs, too long silver and raven hair, and wings. The creature's fight was brutal, not seeming to have a thought for morality. And more problematic, underneath the drowning hate, the creature had obvious military technique as it wrestled him into a hold that had Sephiroth's chest to the finely polished, blood-tainted wood. Sephiroth had to think that, somewhere in there, Valentine had a hand in it. The fucking bastard.

And the demonic thing was so fucking strong. Sephiroth let out a frustrated half-growl, half-holler over his own heavy breaths as his body cringed under the creature's heavy, pinning weight. All of those reactions were met with an abrasive chuckle near his ear.

"I am death itself, little mouse. Do you truly think you could stop me with merely your body? It would take much, much more." The face drew nearer and drew in a deep breath near the bottom edge of Sephiroth's ear, as a groan sounded nearby from a dying woman. "Then again..." The thing ground its groin against Sephiroth's tense buttocks, widening the man's eyes.

Wanting to vomit but fighting the dire urge to do so, Sephiroth instead jerked his head back, slamming it against flesh, hearing a satisfying crunch. The creature's intake of breath made him smile. Then, the hand, that had assisted in gaining the hold that had both of Sephiroth's arms behind his back, let go, got a stranglehold on Sephiroth's hair at the top of his head, and slammed it right back down the little bit of space it'd still been raised, all of it making the ex-General cringe.

"And what is so unusual about being trapped in this body, when, before, I felt nothing..." It leaned back down, nuzzling Sephiroth's ear. "That felt _so_  fucking good."

At the words, Sephiroth didn't know whether to laugh, cry, vomit, or vainly try to kill the thing again, especially when the creature so obviously enjoyed it. And he didn't bother begging. Years before, he'd learned that didn't work. Instead, weighted under a blood-drenched body that seemed even heavier than the President's, his mindunwittingly shrinking away from reality to protect itself in a way that had allowed it to survive his childhood, Sephiroth closed his eyes, and tried to be somewhere else, to be someone else, to not exist. As a child, admittedly, Sephiroth had craved the much older man'sgifts and devoted attention when the now-dead President had had the time and convenience to give it, things no one else bothered to give him, but doing _this_ had always hurt so much, even if the pain went away so quickly afterwards, a 'gift' of his unnatural body.

So when the primal humping and breathy growls came at his body, a scene that renewed his nightmares, he didn't really feel or hear anything. It wasn't until he noticed the shallow, steady breathing near his ear that he blinked open his eyes, who knew how much time later. Well, it was more the gunshots that opened them.Then again, it was more because the creature suddenly ripped away from him, howling with aforceful vengeance. 

Feeling like he'd woken from a coma, Sephiroth struggled to his feet, his whole body trembling. It was then he noticed that his jeans were still intact and properly seated. But that didn't make any of it any better.

Sephiroth looked around with barely-focused eyes but nonetheless spotted the beast that was mostly a pool of black in the sunlight, a short distance away. Without further thought, he stalked the best he could directly up to it and, even as it turned its head to look at him, reached up, grabbed the thing by the sides of its blood-wetface, and twisted with everything he had.


	10. Reclaimed by the Machine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: more violence. I'm done warning for this. :P

Partly, it was the twisting of the monster's body that met Sephiroth's twist that saved it from the very real possibility of a decapitation.  Mostly though, it was the claw in the gut that thrust Sephiroth's body backwards but wouldn't let him go as it curled underneath his ribcage.  The pain was unreal.  It was one thing to be slashed or run through with a sword or shot with a few bullets.  It was quite another to feel the tearing of large, long claws and thicker fingers that seemed to be shredding and pulverizing his insides.  His mouth open in a non-existent gasp, the pain stunned him as his vision went white.

Somehow, Sephiroth still felt his body spinning, not of its own accord.  Then he felt a large mass pressed against the full length of his back. Something unyielding went around his neck to the point that he couldn't breathe.  But, at that point, he wasn't sure he remembered how to breathe anyway.  He blindly yanked at the hand impaling him, but it was so wedged in there and so much stronger than his weakening, pain-drenched body that it wouldn't budge.  And then his feet no longer touched the ground. 

Near his ear, he heard the beast growl.  It was a strange sound though, unlike any other from the beast so far.  It was quiet, almost as if it was in pain.  But could it even feel pain?

No. How could a monster feel pain?

But then, as if trying to disprove the thought, Sephiroth felt hot lips and hotter breath at his ear before the creature whispered, "Why can't I kill you?"

Good question.  Why didn't it kill him?

Good God, why didn't it just kill him?

Why didn't it just end all of this, something Sephiroth could never do for himself, no matter how much the pain of everything tore him apart?  The pain of his childhood where no one lifted a finger to help him, no matter how much he begged.  Of every life he'd brutally and mercilessly taken in the name of the government in his cold calculations, the ones with the nameless, fearful faces who still haunted his nightmares.  Of every moment to that point that he was forced to breathe and continue on in a world filled with so much hatred and insatiable greed and lust.

With those thoughts further draining his mind of life, he then slipped into a blackness he would have been grateful for had he been able to think the thought.

When Sephiroth blinked his eyes open, the shallow breath he breathed in held a tightness of pain, but he could breathe well enough through surely fading bruises that apparently littered his neck.  It was more his arms, shoulders, and wrists that screamed.  They'd apparently been holding up the majority of his almost 200 pounds of weight as he'd slumped down with his hands chained above his head, his feet not touching the floor.

It only took him a moment to remember why all of the pain was there and grit his teeth over the fact that he was still alive and presumably Vincent Valentine was as well, that he'd accomplished nothing.

The creaking of wood sounded and Sephiroth looked directly at it as a man stood and straightened out his suit.  Sephiroth squinted past the whiteness of pain in the dim, large room that purred and clunked with mechanical sounds and realized he recognized the other man. 

The neck of a white shirt open and trailing partially down a chest that hid a heart Sephiroth knew he had to crush to give him a better chance of getting the hell out of there, Reno walked up to him, casually, his wave of spikey red hair nonetheless bouncing slightly with each step, his head tilted to the side a bit, a smirk on his face as he stared with an obvious curiosity.  "I'm sure you realize you're supposed to be dead right now.  But, considering the amount of money they've spent on you..."

Yeah, Sephiroth knew he was much more useful alive than dead.  He'd always known that.  He was a tool to be harnessed and unleashed onto a world that had no easy, guaranteed defense against him.  He'd always been worth the price until five years ago.  But apparently he still had some use left in him.

"You know, I almost had to lay down naked on the floor as a distraction, just so the Security Chief wouldn't kill _you_ when she realized you were the one who that _thing_ was after."  Reno said with a grin, then turned on his heel, walked over to a small table near them, and fumbled with the things on it that Sephiroth couldn’t see through his arm as his pain-seared body hung.  "But, you live and they're on their way here.  A few hours from now and you'll finally be safe and sound at home, sweet home."

The redhead snorted with a shake of his head before he walked back over to Sephiroth's side.  Without hesitation, Reno disconnected the IV bag already in place and instead connected the large vial to the IV connected to Sephiroth's arm and plunged whatever was contained in it into the ex-General's body.  Within moments, Sephiroth's heart already racing at the realization that he was once again trapped, that he never should have revealed himself in his blind rage for a monster that should have been long dead if the world had any sense but apparently didn't, his heart began to slow with mind-numbing speed.

"That's enough to kill herd of horses, but not quite enough to kill you.  And I'll have to increase your drip, I guess...  They should have given me more of this shit, but they probably didn't think they'd get this lucky." Reno huffed with another shake of his head. Just before Sephiroth lost his mind again to unconsciousness, the last thing he heard were words entering his ears like a sun-soaked mirage: "Sleep well, sweet prince."


	11. Having a Chance

It'd been a couple of hours at least since he'd woken up to drown in everything that he'd most likely done before Vincent turned his head towards the door, hearing the distinct tapping sound of formal dress shoes walking to his door.  The chair rocked again as his self-appointed guard apparently rose to meet the newcomer.

"Miss, the ship is being evacuated and no guests are allowed on the lower decks.  Please go to the upper deck so that you can be taken ashore."

"I've come for the man you're holding.  I'm with the Secret Service."

There was a distinct moment of silence before her tense voice said, "Alone?  But-"

"Yes, ma'am.  And you'll be debriefed in your office.  A man is waiting for you there."

"In my office?"

"Yes, ma'am.  But, first, could you open the door?"

"I-I don't think-"

"Ma'am, please open the door and return to your office.  All of your concerns and questions will be addressed there."  There were a few seconds of silence before Vincent heard the door being unlocked.  A young woman immediately walked through when it opened and eyed him before she turned her head but didn't bother to turn around.  "And could I have the key for his restraints?"

The security chief walked stiffly to her side and stared at Vincent like she knew she was about to make the biggest mistake of her life.  Vincent didn't bother to open his mouth to remind her that she'd probably already done that when she'd agreed to have him onboard.  Then the key exchanged hands and the older woman left just as stiffly after a pointed stare. The young redhead eyed him while the footsteps faded down the hallway.

When they seemed far enough away to avoid eavesdropping ears and the newcomer did nothing further, Vincent gritted out, "Get me the fuck off this ship."

The woman ground her teeth together before she walked forward and unlocked both the cuffs on his wrists and ankles with a bit of fumbling.  Then she backed up to stand stiffly, and he stood up and worked the cramps out of his muscles created from lying in the same position for too long. 

"Mr. Valentine, I am to escort you to the helicopter waiting on the deck.  Please come..."  Her voice faded when, the moment he heard where to go, he was already walking forward and past her.  She turned and tried to keep up with her much shorter legs, as she did her best to assert, "Please come with me, Sir."

Vincent didn't bother replying.  Nor did he slow down for her ease.  He had one goal in mind and that was to get as far from this ship as he possibly could.  And try for the rest of his unnatural life to forget.  But that was an unachievable goal, and he already knew that.  He'd never forget that this day was an affirmation that he'd become death itself on that operating room table thirty year before and there wasn't a thing he could do about it.  He hadn't even been able to save the person he _loved_ , for fuck's sake, the very one who'd cursed him with this existence.  The irony of it all...

His long strides didn't stop, even at the sight of splattered blood and the few remaining body parts that brought bile to his throat as he wished he had the balls to stab his eyes out, until he was stepping on board of the large military transport helicopter.  And, inside, against a far wall laid an unconscious man on a cot that had been folded out of the wall of the compartment.  Vincent felt like his heart stopped at the sight of him, right before his pulse skyrocketed. 

The woman stopped at his side, a bit out of breath.  "Please, sir, take a seat.  We'll be departing in a minute."

Ignoring her words completely, he whispered more to himself, "He's alive?"  Before that moment, he hadn't known either way, hadn't wanted to know for the sake of his minimal sanity.

"Yes, sir.  We were able to take him into custody."

As she spoke, he took a few steps forward, staring with wide crimson eyes that swept over the length of Sephiroth's body.  Under the blood, over a tangle of red-tainted silver hair, he saw the mostly healed gashes on the ex-General's face, the colorful bruises on his neck, the blackened, shredded t-shirt that partially hid massacred flesh, and blackened pants that hadn't fared much better.  The man looked like an animal had torn him apart. And Vincent knew he was that animal.

"Sir, please have a seat," the woman repeated.

Some man said, "Cissnei, Tseng wants you on the ship for the debriefings.  You're leaving on the next one."

Behind Vincent, she said, "Okay."  Despite the affirmation, it took a few seconds before he heard her hard sole shoes leave the aircraft.  The heavy door closed.

"Have a seat," re-repeated a different man.

Vincent turned his head to stare at the new person, mostly because he hadn't noticed someone had been sitting there, not in face of the unconscious swordsman.  It was another redhead, but where it had been questionable what the woman had been feeling, this person clearly had a considerable amount of distaste for the ex-secret serviceman as the redhead reclined back, one leg folded over the other one, and didn't bother to hide his cold stare.

Vincent's eyes drifted back to Sephiroth. Previously so lost in the dried blood, it was then that he noticed the needle attached to the tubing coming out of the man's arm and followed it to the bag hanging on a hook on the cabin wall.

"He doesn't like to travel much," the redhead said, apparently following Vincent's gaze.

"You're drugging him." 

There was no affirmation which was more or less a yes.  But they'd wanted Sephiroth dead... They could have been killing him, like they'd wanted Vincent to do for them.  Instead, they were drugging him and bring him back?

The engine turned on and the helicopter lurched as it lifted off of the deck of the ship, making Vincent stumble slightly as he lost himself in the horror of reality. 

"Sit."  This time, the iciness came out in the man's voice.

And Vincent sat since there wasn't much point in standing.  Besides, he felt weak as his thoughts moved from one to the next in a chain that only became darker with the reality of things.

Sephiroth had spent five years in who knew what hidey hole.  And now they were bringing him back, probably to whatever he'd originally run from, all while drugged, restrained, and lacking any choice in the matter.  Vincent could imagine the carefully dug hole Sephiroth would be placed in if he continued to remain uncompliant.  The man would never see the light of day again.  And that wouldn't matter to anyone besides Sephiroth since, technically, to the world, Sephiroth was dead and this body was merely more or less property of the government.

It was a good half an hour into the trip before the bald man driving the helicopter shouted back, "Reno, come up here.  Tseng needs a word with you."

Vincent didn't return Reno's stare as the man passed him, well, at least until the man had entered the cockpit. Then Vincent stared as Reno immediately sat down, put on a headset, and started talking. Reno watched the raven-haired man back with a glare before Vincent turned back to stare at Sephiroth instead. 

A minute later, something inside of him, perhaps fear of what was about to happen, or the guilt that had piled up from so many years of non-existence, or perhaps because, while sleeping, Sephiroth looked so much like Lucrecia that it constricted his heart, Vincent found himself standing up and walking across the compartment to the unconscious man.  Staring down at him, his mind became lost in the younger man. 

Vincent had come on this mission, willingly.  He knew he didn't have to come.  He could have walked away after he'd walked out of the President's office.  He could have hid in places no one would have found him.

Instead, he'd taken the mission, firm in the belief that Sephiroth couldn't have been happy in the life the world had created for him.  The belief that Vincent himself would give this man mercy by killing him, a mercy that he himself could never find, considering his body hadn't aged a day in thirty years and that was probably because of the very creature that wouldn't him die anyway either way.

The pale skin of Vincent's hand came into view, then his other one, closing around the swordsman's neck.  If he just squeezed hard enough, the man would suffocate.  With the drugs in Sephiroth's body, he would pass quietly, without even knowing it was happening.  But his hands refused to constrict, no matter how hard he tried.

His teeth gritted as tears came to his eyes.  God, why couldn't he just do it?  Why even hesitate?  Why couldn't at least one of them leave this life behind and be able to forget?

Then, his eyes went to the needle in Sephiroth's arm.  His hands moved to that instead.  That...

Well, that was surprisingly easy to disconnect.

The deed done, Vincent stepped away, sat back down, and watched with heavy breaths and blood pounding, it all making his head swim.  A minute passed, then another. He glanced to the cockpit.  Reno had apparently decided to get comfortable, his feet up on the dashboard, his chair tilted back as he continued to talk.  The bald man was looking at him on occasion, saying a word here and there. 

Five, then ten minutes later, and he realized Sephiroth's breaths had deepened.  A few minutes later, the silver-haired man's eyes opened.  Less than a minute after that, his head turned and, because Vincent was sitting right across from Sephiroth, those aquamarine eyes latched directly onto him.  Vincent sucked in a breath at the instant recognition that immediately turned into rage as Sephiroth bared his teeth.  Sephiroth's limbs bucked at the bindings that held him to the table, and Vincent shook his head slowly, his stare remaining glued to the other man's before the gunman glanced to the cockpit.

Some of the rage melted away into something else.  Confusion probably.  Vincent didn't blame him.  He was still confused himself.

But maybe...  Maybe Vincent just wanted to give this man a chance, a choice.  Things that, if Sephiroth's file were any indication, he'd had too few of.  If Vincent ended up being at the brunt of that choice again, so be it.  At least they were still over open ocean.

Then, his bloodied face still marred with the frown, Sephiroth slowly looked back at the ceiling and closed his eyes, the great expansions of his chest slowing back down within a minute.  It wasn't until, several more minutes later, that Sephiroth opened his eyes again to stare guardedly at Vincent.  At that, the gunman stood up, walked to the man's side, and unstrapped him with quick movements.

The moment his arms were free, Sephiroth grabbed a panel of Vincent's hole-filled suit, yanking him downwards, making him stare at the younger man's bloodied face, and hissed.  "Why are you doing this?"

Vincent's mouth opened, but all he could manage was, "I..."

Then Sephiroth's other hand went straight for Vincent's neck, wrapping around it, squeezing.

Already feeling the stirrings of Chaos that he fought with everything in him, the gunman had enough air and throat space to grind out, "Do it quickly."

It was a curse when the hand actually loosened slightly as confusion renewed on Sephiroth's face.

"What the FUCK?!" burst from the cockpit.

Vincent ripped away, gasping for air, trying to contain his heart, his mind, and, in turn, hopefully Chaos from emerging for the second time that day.  In turn, Sephiroth shoved himself from the cot and dashed for the front of the aircraft.  Crimson eyes sealed shut as Vincent fell into a heap on his knees on the floor, trying to be calm, to be at peace when everything around him seemed to want his insanity, although, really, why would it?  Perhaps that particular want truly came from his own body and mind which, at that moment, only seemed to want to encourage on that insanity.

But, in the end, what did it really matter?  It wasn't as if the world really had a chance either way...


	12. When Things Make No Sense

The helicopter already hovering, Rude fought with the four-point seat belt while the other secret serviceman bolted to his feet, shouting, “Stop!” as his hand jerked behind himself and his other hand shot up to flare at Sephiroth. A split second later, as Reno clawed at his own back, presumably getting a grip on a concealed firearm, a genuine fear on his face, he yelled louder, “Fuck! STOP!”

None of that slowed the swordsman down. Two seconds after the redhead's initial shout, with absolutely no hesitation, Sephiroth grabbed Rude by the back of the neck and Reno by the front, battering his throat in the process, and slammed their heads together, making an loud thunk in the cockpit. The only thing that saved their skulls from cracking were their headsets. Reno's gun clattered to the floor as he hung limp. Rude fell forward, hitting the dashboard with his face, his restraints undone a bit too late.

Keeping his grip on Reno, Sephiroth swung him over his shoulders, stalked to the side of the helicopter, opened the door, and threw the man out. He didn't even wait for a splash before he stormed back to the cockpit and gave Rude the same treatment.

Once he had the door closed again, he stared down at the gunman, his own breathing completely out of control, nearly matching Valentine's. The physical exertion had been nothing. This man, however, was a completely different story. This man was...

Well, Valentine was probably going to kill him if he didn't do something about it. He could already see the bubbling at his back even as the gunman clearly fought the transformation as he clutched at his own body racking with sobbing breaths.

And in watching him, Sephiroth already knew the last thing he wanted to do was face that thing again. Out here, alone, with no distractions... He didn't want to imagine what the monster would try to do to him.

Yeah, he could kill Valentine right now, tear his head clean off. But, instead of acting rationally, he just stood there.

Why couldn't he kill him as he'd been fantasizing doing for so many years? Because, what, the gunman had shown a conscience, an ounce of compassion, was something other than a complete monster, human even? To think that he could be so easily persuaded by those things... It had to be something else, something deeper, but he didn't have the time to figure out what that was.

Then there was the second option: He could throw him off the plane. But even if he managed to throw Valentine out of the helicopter before the transformation was complete, the creature could fly. Maybe not as fast as an aircraft, but he didn't want to take that chance. Plus, the thing could apparently become something of a bomb while inflicting no damage to itself. Who knew what else it could do?

So, if he apparently couldn't kill him, couldn't get rid of him, that left only one other choice: Keep him. At least for now. And between the monster and, well, the monster's keeper...

Valentine was undeniably the preferable choice.

So Sephiroth did the only other thing he could think of doing: He strode forward, the only thought in his head to calm the man down, hopefully helping to bring to a stop something apparently neither of them wanted.

The swordsman fell to his knees and touched the gunman's cheek which brought instant revulsion. It was everything he could do to keep his hand there. This man had killed his family. Had killed any chance Sephiroth had had at a comparatively normal life. But he forced himself to do it anyway.

“Shhh, it's okay.” Sephiroth hissed quietly, trying but surely failing to make his voice soothing, trying not to vomit as his body trembled with his heavy breaths and his stomach clenched, trying to not think about the last person he'd touched this way, a person who was only a few days dead, a person he actually loved, not hated, “Calm down. Stay with me. Valentine...”

The gunman shuddered almost violently at his name, but then his erratic, heavy breathing also quieted just a bit. Sephiroth swallowed and caressed that cheek with his thumb, his own breaths only picking up, his hand shaking with the effort to not rip away.

Sephiroth sat back on his heels, leaning forward a bit. His other hand came up as well, holding Valentine's damp face and continuing caresses with a tenderness he didn't feel. He hushed him again and swallowed down bile. Then he closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see. Because this simply felt like a betrayal to far too many people. How many people had this man killed over the years? Did he truly want to know the answer to that question at this point?

A couple of minutes, with the occasional hushing, the other man had quieted down considerably, although his body still trembled violently on occasion. By then, the stroking of Sephiroth's thumbs had become almost meditative. Even Sephiroth's own breaths a weakened. However, that calmness ceased completely when Valentine's forehead came to rest against his own. Sucking in a breath, Sephiroth's eyes flashed open and he jerked back. The gunman already had his eyes open and watched him back just as closely, guardedly, his breaths becoming more uneven with each passing second. But there wasn't terror in his eyes this time. There was only... Well, it didn't matter what was there.

With their stare, it took Sephiroth another second to realize he was still holding the man's face. At the thought, he jerked his hands away as well. Then his whole body bolted upright and took a couple of steps back.

“Sephiroth...” Valentine let out a shuddering breath, swallowed hard, and then closed his eyes. So quietly that Sephiroth almost didn't hear him, he breathed out, “Thank you.”

The swordsman's own breathing shuddered as the rest of him stiffened in revulsion. Thank you?! The man had the gall to thank him after...

At that moment, Sephiroth had to question whether or not Valentine had any control when he transformed. Before, he'd thought so, had come to hate the gunman as much as he hated the creature within him, but now, after these last few minutes, he found he was changing his mind. It was obvious the gunman had no desire to transform. And he clearly hadn't in that bathroom on the ship either, now that Sephiroth really thought about it.  At this point, Valentine only appeared to transform when his life was threatened. Outside of those moments, the man seemed... kind of normal.

Nonetheless, despite the unwanted thoughts, Sephiroth growled out, “Don't thank me. That wasn't to help you.”

“I didn't think it was...” After the words were spoken, releasing a unsteady, heavy breath, Valentine more or less collapsed to the floor onto his back, his eyes squeezed shut, and clawed his hands through his bangs, bringing them off his face. His hair was tangled, wrought with blood and guts, and in dire need of brushing, so those bloodstained hands didn't get far. Sephiroth knew at least some of that blood was his. Valentine ripped his hands out of the knotted mess and covered his face instead. Really, Sephiroth noted, the man looked like hell overall. His previously pristine suit was in tatters. Blood marred him pretty much everywhere. The man himself looked like hell. …Although, admittedly, the man had looked that way earlier at the bar too, pale and gaunt like he hadn't eaten or slept in days, never mind the burning red eyes and the scars. Maybe he just always looked like this, perhaps minus the blood.

Sephiroth was sure he looked something of the same. But, besides the blood and shredded clothing, the only true remnant of what had happened earlier was a slight pain in his chest, one that would disappear soon enough. From what he remembered, the damage had been massive, so he wasn't surprised it'd taken a while to heal.

Watching the other man for another few second, Sephiroth knew he now had to make another decision. What was he going to do with the guy? Kicking him out even now seemed like a risk. He doubted Valentine would willingly join the other two in the frigid water. And he still couldn't kill him for some absurd reason. The only other choice was to take him with and hope he'd willingly get out of the helicopter when they reached dry land.

But that would take a while. Wanting to get away from this man at least as much as he could, well, besides the fact that they couldn't stay there hovering all day, he turned and headed back to the cockpit. Immediately, he sat down, put on a headset, and started the helicopter moving back the way they'd come. His destination the second port the cruise ship was going to stop at He checked the fuel gauge and realized, unfortunately, the helicopter wasn't going to make it that far. But it'd at least get him into the country.

And when he got there, he'd search the helicopter for his suitcase, sure it'd be here somewhere, along with his passports and ID's. And then he'd make an immediate b-line to the post office to pick up the package he'd mailed to himself. And by the time he got there, hopefully he'd have lost Vincent Valentine somewhere in the process.

For now, with far too much free time to spare, forced to be in the gunman's presence, he was left to contemplate why the fuck he couldn't kill him when all logic and a previously dire need for revenge said he should destroy him.


End file.
